


Boyfriend

by SomedayTheSky



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Asexual Enjolras, Asexuality Spectrum, Costume designer Grantaire, Crushes, Cute, Enjolras is... fairly good at feelings???, Fluff, Getting Together, Grantaire has a Big Secret Crush (TM), Light-Hearted, M/M, One Shot, Prom, Prom Proposal, pad thai, tension? who's she
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 06:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20523614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomedayTheSky/pseuds/SomedayTheSky
Summary: Enjolras is socially obligated to go to prom. The problem is he hates prom, and has no one to go with. He tries to complain to Grantaire afterschool. Grantaire has other ideas.





	Boyfriend

**Author's Note:**

> Just something short I wrote while taking a tiny break from schoolwork / my original writing project. Hope you enjoy! :)

“Well, why don’t we go together?” Grantaire asked, fixating on the metal straw as he swirled it slowly through the pink drink in his hydro flask.

Enjolras laughed as he leaned against the picnic table, adjusting the strap of his heavy jansport. He was notoriously bad at distinguishing Grantaire’s genuinely joking sarcasm from Grantaire’s self-protective sarcasm—the oversized shirts, vintage birkenstocks, and sparkly scrunchies Grantaire had taken to wearing were good examples. But Enjolras felt proud for understanding that this was definitely just a joke. “Tell me your tux color so we can coordinate,” Enjolras shot back, going along with it.

“Probably just black,” Grantaire said, without taking his gaze from his beverage. 

It was an hour after school got out, the back lawn now empty and serene except for the distant clamor of some boys playing soccer. Grantaire was technically supposed to be playing with them, but he’d been skipping practice to costume design for the school theater since freshman year, and he wasn’t going to stop now. 

In any case, Enjolras was realizing how alone they both were right now. Despite often staying late after school and seeing Grantaire leave the auditorium, Enjolras had never tried catching him on his way out before. They had never hung out just the two of them, without all their friends around.

The sunlight was playing in Grantaire’s curls, bringing out flecks of lighter brown that Enjolras hadn’t noticed before. Enjolras watched for a moment.

Grantaire glanced up at him, then seemed to almost flinch at Enjolras’ full, direct gaze. He took a deep sip of his Starbucks.

“Grantaire, put the pink drink down,” Enjolras demanded. “Are we joking or not?”

“Well,” Grantaire stammered. “We  _ are _ both queer.”

Enjolras sighed weirdly—he had never been sure about Grantaire, who had dated girls before, and now that he knew, he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or much more stressed out. Enjolras, on the other hand, had been president of the queer student union sophomore and junior year, out and proud about his asexuality since day one. 

“If you’re socially obligated to go as student body president…” Grantaire said, “and there’s literally nobody else but me…” 

“ _ You _ want to go to a dance?” Enjolras asked, amused. Neither Enjolras nor Grantaire nor any of their friends had chosen to attend any of the dances prior to this one. That’s why Enjolras had been complaining to Grantaire about needing to go—they always joked about the fuss people made about it. “A school dance,” he continued, raising his eyebrows. “A  _ high school _ dance full of sweaty heterosexuals grinding on each other.” 

Grantaire stood up and walked away.

Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand and spun him around. “Hey, wait, please don’t go yet.” 

“I have feelings for you.” Grantaire pulled back gently. “I have to go cry now. Bye.”

Enjolras was so shocked he just watched Grantaire run.

Everything about Grantaire was constantly switching around. He swung hard from trend to trend, reinventing his entire aesthetic nearly every month from things he sewed and altered from the thrift store. (Jehan usually inherited one piece per aesthetic, giving their style its trademark… whatever it was.) 

Grantaire tried to change his personality along with his clothes, too, but to his disappointment, he always ended up the same person underneath. He loved making costumes for plays because he felt like he was making good people—useful people. Like he could do for others what he couldn’t do for himself.

Enjolras had no idea which direction was which in the backstage of the school auditorium. The whole thing felt so large and dark and foreign to him with all the neon spike tape, the heavy stage lights, the discarded sets from previous shows. But there was only one door with light spilling out from underneath it. 

Enjolras tried the handle—locked. He sat down carefully, setting his backpack aside. He massaged a shoulder with one hand—the damn bag must have weighed fifty pounds—and pressed the other hand against the door. “Hey,” he said against it. “I know you’re in there.”

He was met with nothing but silence. The light shifted and blotted out in the middle. Grantaire was sitting with his back to the door.

“This is ridiculous,” Enjolras continued anyway. “This is the kind of drama we would make fun of.”

“It’s not ridiculous to me,” Grantaire said softly, clearly in tears.

Enjolras ate his words for a minute, flushed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Of course you can come to the dance with me, Grantaire, if that’s what you want. Please don’t cry about it.”

Grantaire stood shakily and opened the door. He didn’t move, and he didn’t look Enjolras in the eye. “You don’t… like me.”

Enjolras rose to his feet. He brushed Grantaire’s chin with his fingers to get a bit of eye contact. It drove him crazy—Grantaire not making eye contact. He never responded like this before, though.

“Shit, you’re beautiful,” Grantaire said softly. Enjolras’ hands were surprisingly smooth. “You’re not playing fair.”

“I’m asexual,” Enjolras said, as gently as possible. “You know that.”

“I’m not saying let’s have sex—although I wouldn’t be, um, opposed— I’m saying let’s hang out—just us. Let’s order pad thai and hold hands, and talk for hours while we hold hands and eat pad thai…? And I want to play with your hair while you nap in the library. And hold you when you’re upset. And kiss you. And call you my boyfriend. And nobody else gets to. Just me.” Grantaire wanted to turn around and barrel into a wall, but he wanted to keep Enjolras’ skin against his even more. He buried his head in Enjolras’ shoulder, overwhelmed.

Enjolras laughed, simply happy, and smoothed down Grantaire’s dark curls. “I don’t get to eat pad thai with anyone else?”

“No, bitch, that’s  _ our _ noodle dish.”

“I’ll call the Thai place,” Enjolras offered, moving forward in this matter with the same resolve he brought to everything else. As soon as he set his mind on something, he immediately began to bring it to fruition. “The fancy one. We can go before the dance.”

Grantaire drew back a little, suddenly a bit mortified. “Okay, but... do we actually have to stay the whole time—?”

“I was thinking an hour tops, then binge watching Anthony Bourdain in my pajamas at home. I’d love for you to join me.” He leaned forward, hesitated for a second as Grantaire stared at him, then kissed Grantaire’s cheek. “Pick you up at seven, boyfriend.”  
  



End file.
